


You Would Not Believe Your Eyes, if Ten Million Fireflies

by ThatOneChemistryNerd



Series: Hobbit prompt fics (A work in progress- more often than not at questionable times of night...day...whatever.) [4]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Another ship fic, Fireflies, It needed to be short but I wanted it long-confusion is the result, M/M, This one's more of a character study tbh, lots of self-reflection for Thorin, so proud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-03 03:56:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11524035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneChemistryNerd/pseuds/ThatOneChemistryNerd
Summary: It's not a meme I promise! So, this fic is thanks to aquilea-of-the-lonely-mountain on tumblr and is part of the Bagginshield Summer Surprise writing/art prompts that were given out. This was mine: "I think fireflies never looked more beautiful." Thorin's POVThorin always thought that home was a place- the kingdom of his childhood- but when Bilbo's made himself and the rest of the company into one large family right under his nose, he's forced to reconsider just what that means to him, and just why Bilbo seems to be the answer to a question Thorin didn't even know he was asking.





	1. Chapter 2 is a lie and is just commentary/questions

Thorin had never put too much thought into his childhood. Oh sure, he thought about it- nigh on every day since the dragon had come, but he’d never _thought_ about it.

He would remember the vast halls and the glittering mines of his grandfather’s rule, the echoes of his siblings’ laughter from the days when all their worries amounted to stealing tarts from the royal kitchens, the way he’d been a prince on top of the world- assured that he would rule with the same honor and dignity of his forefathers.

Thorin would remember the flourishing peace and the prosperity of his people to keep himself going in the dark, cold nights of their exile- the nights he had to bring himself so low simply to ensure survival. When the honor and dignity he had dreamed of was nothing but a story, and his rule was spent bowing to the whims of the swindling villages of men, paying homage to _their_ gods and _their_ wants and _their_ perversions- when he was nothing but Thorin Oakenshield, a dwarven smith, those idyllic memories were all he had.

Thinking of his childhood kept him alive.

The reminder of what had been was what led him to the Blue Mountains, it was what pushed him to build his people a new home and ultimately it was what brought him to head out to reclaim Erebor numbering only thirteen- and a hobbit.

When his sister had found her One and had given him Fili and Kili, she had given the people of Erebor hope. More importantly however, she had given Thorin hope.

One might have thought that having a family, having roots, would have given the king something new to dwell on besides a past long since lost- and indeed that’s likely what his sister had imagined- however for Thorin it rekindled his memories of Erebor of old. He’d thought many years on taking back their homeland, an idle wondering here and there, never fully formed for fear of- what? The dragon? Uprooting his people once again for a war they never signed up for? A repeat of the battle that took his grandfather, his father and his brother from him?

Thorin could never say why he turned his thoughts away when they strayed too close to reclaiming Erebor- could never feel truly comfortable when the golden tinge of memory became the future in his mind’s eye, but one particularly harsh winter when Vili died and he and Dis went hungry to feed her sons, he once again used his childhood to warm his heart at night.

He’d realized then that the prince he had been, the glory and prosperity he remembered, could never belong to his sister-sons. Not here, not when they struggled day to day to live. So he would give it to them in Erebor.

Dis had screamed and pleaded, _‘I can’t lose you too!’_ she had cried. When Fili and Kili, only just of age, chose to follow their king and uncle she had wept and raged. _‘How dare you! How dare you take from me all that I have! How dare you send the last of those I love to die in the flames of that monstrosity!’_ But Thorin would not be swayed. He’d seen the glory of their kingdom, the glory that Dis had been too young to know and he swore to give it back to her. To all of them. He swore that he would finally do right by his people as king and restore them to their birthright.

Many had told him he’d already done well by them, that his leadership had been proven when he did not abandon them- not after Smaug, not after Khazad-dum, not even after their resettling in Erid Luin. Balin had prodded and Dwalin had done the thing with his eyebrows that said he was done with Thorin’s moping and self-deprecation and Dis had straight out hit him.

When the company had been formed, each and every member had implied the same in one way or another. Ori had looked at him in awe and asked all the scholarly questions expected of such a skilled scribe, Dori had spoken of loyalty to ‘those who already brought us prosperity’ as his motive for joining (unspoken was the obvious mothering of his brothers) Nori had already spoken his word years ago when he’d more or less elected himself as spymaster- much to Dwalin’s chagrin. Bifur held him in high esteem from the battle at Dimrill Dale and his cousins felt his leadership in the Blue Mountains had revitalized their home- all seemed to feel indebted to him. Óin and Gloin agreed- they credited him with their lives and families in the West. Thorin protested.

Gandalf was an enigma, urging him to march on Erebor while also singing his praises for previous ‘accomplishments’. As if keeping oneself alive was worth commendation. Even the Hobbit was against him- Balin had told the tale of his epithet and that was that, suddenly Thorin was a king of legend, even if he was _‘surprisingly obstinate and irrationally irritating’_ in the hobbit’s own words.

 

The Hobbit. An odd creature to be sure, and one that confounded Thorin at every turn. Where Dwarrow were sturdy, Hobbits were soft and small, where his people were accustomed to hardship and travel, this being was used to leisure and home. And that- where dwarrow sang songs and told stories of great deed of old, of a legacy, this little hobbit who had none of that, knew more of Home than any of them.

Bilbo Baggins- soft, cultured, toddling off into the wilds with them like a lamb after wolves- understood better than even Thorin himself the importance of Home.

Thorin had first noticed it a few weeks into the journey, when the going was easy and the boredom was filled with stories and songs. He’d been watching Master Baggins near constantly since they had first set out, initially not for any reason other than his protection of course. While Thorin’s words hadn’t been a lie- he couldn’t guarantee his safety, nor the safety of anyone here for that matter- it didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try. He watched him now for… different reasons.

No matter the reason why, Thorin observed the hobbit- watched him acclimate to a species not his own and begin participating in the sharing of stories and songs. But something was off. It could have simply been a cultural difference or a personal one, either way it drew Thorin’s attention. The stories Bilbo told, they were not of great deeds and heroics of generations gone (the story of Bullroarer Took being the only exception) but of summertime folly- pig racing and pie thieving and splashing in creeks on a hot afternoon. They were stories that told of family and joy and comfort, all things Thorin had come to associate with hobbits, yes, but also something he found he could not associate with the dwarven members of the company.

It irked him, especially so after the Goblin tunnels and the Carrock. He watched, and watched some more, and he saw Bilbo Baggins of the Shire become Bilbo Baggins of Erebor and the Blue Mountains without even trying. He saw this little fellow who was as oblivious to the world as you could get, accomplish something Thorin himself had been trying to do for nearly a century.

When Thorin thought of home, his mind first went to Erebor, then to Dis and Fili and Kili. The company it seemed, had found their own home in eachother, but why was he not a part of that?

Naturally, Thorin did as Thorin does, and he went off on his own to ~~brood~~ think in Beorn’s gardens as the sun began to set. Where did it all start? Was it Bilbo’s participation in the revelry and song versus Thorin’s observation? Was it his stories?

Thorin thought. Yes, that seemed to be it. All his stories had centered around Home, around the ‘golden years’ of his childhood.

Maybe that was it? Childhood? But Thorin thought of his childhood often, told stories of it, the glory days of Erebor, often. What, then, made Bilbo and his stories more indicative of Home than his? Was it that the Shire was still there? That Bilbo hadn’t lost the things that made it home?

No, that couldn’t be it either. Thorin remembered a particularly enlightening, if saddening evening in which their hobbit gave reason for his initial reaction to orcs; he explained that during the hobbit equivalent of the harsh winter that spurred Thorin to this quest, orcs had invaded the Hobbit’s idyllic Shire and he’d had to hide and watch his mother be torn apart by Wargs as a child, and later watch his father fade because of it. Thorin had sympathized, and his respect for Bilbo had increased rather dramatically afterward. However, he realized that Bilbo’s stories were never set after that, only before. He’d lost his family, and as such, his home.

It made sense then, that finding the company and bonding as family would produce this idea of home, Thorin thought. But why? Why was it that these stories were different? Why was Home so unattainable for Thorin with his constant stream of childhood memories but so easy for Bilbo who spoke fondly but rarely of his?

Thorin’s musings were interrupted with a plate full of food bumping against his shoulder. “You nearly missed dinner Master Oakenshield, however, I thought you might need some food after the past few days.”

Bilbo sat down with his own plate after handing Thorin his and began to eat in silence and Thorin once again observed him in contemplation. “Eat, you need it. Don’t think I didn’t see those bruises of yours when Óin was fussing at you by the river earlier.”

“Thorin.” Thorin blurted.

“Pardon?”

“Just Thorin. No need for titles Master Baggins.” Thorin had been meaning to say that for weeks now, he’d admitted to himself that Bilbo was one of the few people he felt truly comfortable with.

“Then I’ll thank you to return the favor Thorin, it’s just Bilbo.” The hobbit smiled and again Thorin found himself so befuddled- ever cheerful, quick witted, just entirely unexpected in every way. “I’d like to think we’re friends by now.”

The king nodded and they ate together in silence as the sky grew dark, the sense of Home that seemed to follow Bilbo wherever he went wrapping itself around Thorin and confusing him even more.

 

After they had finished and the plates set aside in exchange for a smoke, small golden lights began to flicker out in the field around them and Bilbo exclaimed in awe.

“Lightning Bugs! I wouldn’t have thought there would be any this far East, but Beorn seems to have everything!”

“Lightning bugs?”

Bilbo didn’t look away from the aerial display but responded anyway. “I think the menfolk in Bree call them Fireflies, they’re all along the Bywater during the summer. Many a wedding has been planned at just the right time and place for these little guys to attend.”

Thorin was watching Bilbo watch the bugs, the hobbit’s hand twitching as if to reach out and touch them but eventually settling for pointing instead. Thorin’s hand wanted to brush the hair away from Bilbo’s eyes so he could see them.

“I remember,” He laughed. “When I was a faunt, mum would take me down by the water every Stersday during the warmer months with glass jars with holes in the lids to try and catch them. She’d say that if I were to catch some and keep them at my bedside they’d keep the dark away for the night, but as a thank you we’d have to let them go home in the morn.”

“My people know them as Fireflies as well.” Bilbo looked to him as he spoke, so Thorin turned to look off at the light display, suddenly unreasonably timid.

“I too remember them from when I was young; the first time I was allowed outside the mountain I was with Balin on one of very few outdoor balconies and we saw the fireflies down by the River Running. I didn’t know what they were, but I was mesmerized by the way they moved about- lazy and without purpose, disappearing and reappearing as they wished. They were beautiful. I think I wanted to be one- having been raised with nothing but a purpose, my whole life planned out for me- I never got to disappear as they do.”

He looked to Bilbo from the corner of his eye and, seeing the tender expression aimed his way, coughed and turned back to the fireflies.

“Balin told me that they were fallen stars come down to guide those who were lost by the river. It was… fittingly poetic for him, but I didn’t learn that they were actually glowing bugs until I had made a suitable fool of myself in front of my parents.”

The laughter from both of them that followed was warm and happy, and they continued to watch the golden lights dance through the grass closer and closer until Bilbo reached out and caught one.

He held it cupped in his hands and looked in on it through a crack in his fingers, appearing for all the world a child for whom the magic of the world was still dancing all around him. When he held his hands out for Thorin to look, he wrapped Bilbo’s hands in his own and brought the glowing light within to eye level.

He had only the chance to see a bright dot before it whizzed out at his face and startled the both of them into laughter once more.

“Y’know, I thinks that’s the first story you’ve told that’s actually about you this entire trip.” Bilbo spoke quietly, afraid to disturb the fireflies or Thorin, neither knew.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just, I’ve heard all about Erebor and how great it used to be, golden halls, silver fountains and all that, but… it was your home. I’ve not heard anything about what you used to do as a child, how your lessons were boring, what you did with your siblings, how you _lived_. I know how great of a kingdom it used to be, but you’ve not said much about how great of a _Home_ it was.”

Bilbo kept talking, but Thorin wasn’t really hearing it. He’d spent so long wondering why, that he hadn’t considered what. His mind was whizzing through all the memories he had of Erebor, but this time under the lens that Bilbo had shown him.

Thorin remembered chasing Frerin down the hallways, tripping and hurting his knee, commiserating with his brother before Dis was born that they didn’t need a _sister,_ when Dis had reached up as a baby and pulled on his and Frerin’s hair and they decided right then and there that this small hairless thing was theirs and they were going to protect it.

Somehow the feelings of righteousness and glory that were synonymous with Erebor in Thorin’s heart were replaced with the same warmth and hope that he’d felt when Fili and Kili were born, that he felt whenever he was around Bilbo- Home.

That was what it was. It wasn’t the stories or the songs or the kingdom of his past that meant Home, but the people with him. Dis had it right all along, yelling at him as she did when he left with her children to face down a dragon. And it had taken a hobbit and some fireflies to show him that.

The people he loved, they were Home now, and Thorin startled himself realizing that Bilbo was one of them. He had been for a while; the warm feeling Thorin had always had around him, that aura of family that he at first thought was reserved for the rest of the company, _that_ was Home. Bilbo had brought them all together, had turned them into a family, and Thorin hadn’t even noticed.

Bilbo had stopped talking when Thorin returned to reality and was looking at him with concern as he’d failed to answer a question apparently asked.

“Thorin are you all right? You suddenly turned a bit pale there and- Thorin wait- oof.”

Thorin had leaned over and was ever so gently pressing their foreheads together, eyes pressed shut as if to ward off tears. He was fairly certain Bilbo had an idea of what it meant, he’d seen it among the family members of the company often enough and sat quiet and unprotesting, but it was unlikely he understood the full implications. That was fine with Thorin, Bilbo didn’t need to know just yet.

It was gentle and emotional, Thorin whispering a quiet ‘ _Thank You’_ laden with sentiment before he leaned back and opened his eyes. Bilbo didn’t ask what for.

                The two of them looked down to realize that their hands were still entwined and they flushed, but didn’t move away. They both tacitly agreed to turn and keep watching the fireflies that had remained undisturbed and unaware of the emotion going on between their spectators. It was funny, the driving need Thorin had once had to reclaim Erebor had diminished, like a building wave suddenly folding back into a gentle tide, warm and lapping at his ankles instead of crashing down over his head.

Thorin sat there hand in hand with his hobbit choosing not to think of how he was marching the family he had just found to the den of a dragon and their very possible deaths and instead focused on the fireflies.

In that moment he could almost believe that they were fallen stars once again, guiding him back from where he had lost himself to the idea of glory. His people had been right, he _understood_ it now. They didn’t need vast golden halls or glittering mines or fountains of silver to be the dwarves of Erebor. They were already that.

All they had needed was a king who could give them a new home, and it seemed Thorin had done that. He had never thought that he could be both King of Durin’s folk and Thorin Oakenshield the smith, but in reality they were synonymous. He found he needn’t be ashamed of his exile- as Balin had once told him, a good king can let go of his pride for the sake of his people.

How strange that it took so much but so little to make him realize that.

 

The sky had fallen dark and much time had passed when Bilbo’s head came to rest on Thorin’s shoulder, the glowing trails of the bugs still dancing around them endlessly. And when Thorin turned to see the soft joy and contentment illuminated on the hobbit’s face, he thought to himself that fireflies had never been so beautiful.


	2. So I have a question for you...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not an actual chapter-sorry.

So, if it wasn't obvious this isn't a chapter but a question. I was considering fleshing out the stories of Thorin and Bilbo with the fireflies as kids into their own little vignettes and was wondering if a) you'd like that, and b) if so, should I post them in this same story or as their own thing? Tell me whatcha think. I'll also probably be doing them anyway no matter where I post them, but still, input is great.


	3. Thorin is a really existential child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was written at work and has been read through like twice, so it's clearly not beta-d and it's barely revised but hey, whatever. Enough of you asked for me to just add it on here, so here it is, but I think I might also make them into a little childhood stories one-shot collection in the future, would you like that?  
> For some reason I tend to write really existential things when it comes to Thorin? Not sure why but he's a very angsty, brooding individual so I suppose it makes sense.

Thorin, like most toddlers was practically vibrating with energy. The only odd thing about this was that the day was nearing its end, and usually small toddlers such as Thorin was were usually falling over themselves arguing that _‘no amad, I’m not tired, I can stay up’_ while countering their own arguments with yawns and sleepily blinking eyes.

Tonight however, was special.

Dwarrow as a rule tended to keep to their mountains- as one would expect of the stone father’s children- especially so when they are young. To dwarrow the mountains meant safety and the comfort of their own people and their native stone, they meant Home and respite from the outside world and those in it who failed to understand them and in their ignorance might do harm. Children, being as precious as they are, were traditionally kept from that outside world as long as feasibly possibly.

As such, Thorin’s first time out of the mountain was an exciting one for the dwarfling. They weren’t going far, not even off the mountain technically but it was still _outside_ , and Thorin had never been there before.

 

“Frís, he’s too young- we’ve talked about this.” Thrain had stated wearily.

Their oldest child had finally gotten to the age that all children eventually get to in which they question everything they can think of simply for the sake of questioning and as such, it was little surprise that young Thorin had grown curious about the strange outside world of men and elves and sky and growing things that Balin had been tutoring him about.

“He’ll have to go outside sometime dear. It’s best if it’s now while we can still keep an eye on him and he’s not running hither and thither after asking to go into Dale or something.”

“But he’s still so small…” was argued back weakly. It was true that Thorin was smaller than other dwarflings his age, though his parents made sure that both he and everybody else knew it was no bad thing- there had been many short kings before and they were just as great if not more so than their taller counterparts, Thrain had told his son.

“Don’t let Thorin hear you say that.”

“But Frís dear,”

She stopped sharpening her blades and put down her whetstone to look him in the eye. “Don’t you ‘but Frís’ me, Thrain son of Thror, you’ve told our son no long enough- if I have to hear one more plea about getting to meet elves or fighting an orc I will cut your beard off and use it to stuff my ears! He’s been getting more creative each time I hear him- the last I heard of this was when he snuck out of training with Fundin’s younger son to come and plead his case in open court! I was obligated to listen to him for nearly an entire hour because of court protocol and this time he wanted to go and ride on the backs of giant eagles he read about!”

Thrain grimaced. Their son’s obsession with elves was bad enough, though they were certain he would grow out of it someday, but did he really need to add mystical birds to the list?

“You’ve been able to- and I can’t believe I’m even saying this- save yourself by hiding away with that council you hate so much, the fact that you prefer them over Thorin right now is telling enough that I shouldn’t be dealing with this on my own. Just give him a little turn outside and once he’s disappointed he’ll stay inside where you can fret over him all you like and I won’t have to listen to anymore of his caterwauling.”

Frís narrowed her eyes at her husband as he mulled over her words. It was uncertain if it was fear for his beard or real understanding of her plight that swayed him, nevertheless it seemed that both Frís and Thorin had won that day.

“It’ll only be on one of the balconies, yes?”

“Of course dear.” She picked the whetstone back up, her battle clearly won.

“And he’ll be with Balin?”

“Yes love.”

“And it’ll only be for a few minutes?”

“Ten minutes, no longer.”

The repetitive ‘ _schlick_ ’ of a blade over stone was the only sound heard over the crackling of their hearth.

 _‘Schlick_.’

 _‘Schlick_.’

“Are we really sure-“

“Thrain I swear to Mahal-!”

 

 

“Are we there yet?”

Balin sighed again. He thought if he sighed any harder he just might blow a lung.

“No Thorin, we’ve only just left the palace, look there are the training grounds you go to every morning, see?”

The young prince certainly did see, and he certainly knew just how big Erebor was and that it would take them a while to walk all the way to the balcony in the (currently unused) royal guest chambers and yet had still asked Balin 19- no, 20 times now if they were there yet.

It might have taken less time had the dwarfling not stopped to grab every possible object that could conceivably be designated for outside use he could see. Thorin had claimed that with only ten minutes out of doors he needed to make it count- what if he came across an elf and didn’t have his bow with him to show off? Of course the likelihood of finding an elf on an Ereboreian balcony well above the tree-line was negligible if not nonexistent and Balin as well as many others had assured Thorin of this however as it often was with children, the words tumbled around his head for a while until he decided he didn’t like them and then they fell right out again.

“Are you sure we aren’t there?”

Twenty-one. Clearly Balin would be gray long before his time because of this one.

Indeed, by the time they eventually made it to the suite that held the balcony Balin found himself fanning his fingers through his beard looking for signs of such discoloration. Thorin himself seemed to have turned into one of those rubber balls that the children of Dale loved so much; initially resembling one just after it was released with high arching bounces only increasing in frequency and tension as the bounces got closer to the ground- in Thorin’s case as they got closer to the guest suite.

In his strange state of vibration, Thorin just looked pleadingly at Balin until he nodded in acquiesce. The doors to the suite were flung open and Thorin sped through them pausing only a moment before opening the balcony doors- with much less force to Balin’s relief. It took a moment for him to follow, but when Thorin finally came into view he was standing with his feet on the railing balancing on his toes to get as tall as he could, bows and trinkets strewn in a haphazard pile.

There were many things Balin would remember when the secret door opened that fateful Durin’s day far in the future, he would remember his parents, the time Dwalin nearly fell in a hot spring when he was only twenty, the day the dragon came of course. He would also remember, just as he always knew he would, the sheer awe on Thorin’s face in that moment on the balcony.

He was staring, his head oscillating between earth and sky as if unable to decide what to look at first. Exposed to open air for the first time in his life, Thorin could do little but blink and gasp as the evening breeze swept through his hair and stung his cheeks with its newness though it was not cold. He couldn’t help but think that he was feeling everything at once; never before had he seen such vastness, the caverns and high cathedral-esque ceilings of Erebor were nothing to the sweeping void of blue that housed Eru’s creations, the gleaming color of freshly-hewn gems paling with the golden display of clouds and sun falling in the west, the sparking veins of gold in green of Erebor’s halls insignificant in light of sweeping hills and trees with Dale glowing warmly in their midst.

There was so much to see, beyond imagination though Thorin’s had certainly not lacked in effort, and it was all laid out in from of him. Such sights and sounds and feelings had been all but lost to him locked up in their halls of stone and for a moment Thorin nearly hated his race, his parents for keeping such majesty from him, though in his heart he knew they were right to have done so.

He knew that the winds would have carried his younger soul off into the distance, he was old enough to understand now. Old enough to take in the beauty of the world for what it was and not brush it off as less than it’s due as he expected many of those born beneath the open sky likely did. It was beautiful and wild, its glory not made by the hands of the free people like his home but by Eru himself- ancient as time and just as mysterious.

He caught sight of the river running as it flowed from the Lonely Mountain beneath him and gasped in quiet wonderment when it began to glow intermittently as if it were loosing the sparks made by a forge hammer into the air.

“Balin!” He gestured frantically as well as he could reach over the railing toward the light display.

“Why does the river have sparks?! It never has sparks inside the mountain!”

“Those are fireflies your highness, they tend to mill about the river at dusk, although they like forests as well.”

The forge-sparks had a name now, but Thorin clearly wasn’t satisfied with that.

“What are they?” He whispered with wide-eyed reverence that made Balin chuckle.

“Many have said that they’re fallen stars come down to guide those who were lost by the river at night- a light to chase away the darkness that plagues the world from Morgoth’s interference in the Great Song when it seeks to lead Eru’s children astray.”

“Balin?”

“Yes Thorin?”

“What are stars?”

“Look up.”

And lo, when Thorin turned his face skyward once again he was greeted with the first stars of the night twinkling in the darkening east, and indeed they seemed to dance and shimmer just like the fireflies down by the river.

“Wow…” He whispered.

For truly to him they seemed the heavens come down to guide his way and grace him with their light, though to what end he did not know.

“Balin?” he asked again.

“Where do the fireflies lead?”

“No one’s quite sure really.” He answered. “Some say they lead you to your fate, others love. Some even say they warn of danger. Of course the more realistic folk think they lead you to rivers.”

Balin’s laughter floated off into the darkening night and Thorin swore to himself that he would remember this. He was sure he would be allowed outside again, but if his amad and adad had anything to say about it he would have to wait until he was older. And wait he would, until the day he could follow the fireflies to wherever they may lead him- for the world was vast and he knew he was but a small thing in that vastness.

As Thorin was slowly herded back inside, trinkets and bow forgotten, he promised the fireflies that he would follow them to whatever fate or love or even danger they wished him to face, if only they would guide him true as Balin promised.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Memories of fireflies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11785257) by [zathuraroy5 (Emilie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilie/pseuds/zathuraroy5)




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